


Cake, Please

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is struggling with mental health issues, and Draco is struggling with his sexuality. They both feel alone and broken, until Harry hires Draco as a portrait painter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ICMezzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICMezzo/gifts).



> **Warnings:** Mental health issues including PTSD and depression, slight potions abuse, language, angst, references to sex and masturbation but no explicit scenes  
>  **Content/Enticements:** This story contains Ace themes written by an Ace person. No, I’m not conceited – I meant it quite literally. One theme of this story is asexuality, and let’s face it, there aren’t enough Draco/Harry fics with asexual themes. The title of this story is a vague Eddie Izzard quote, but I chose it because the unofficial asexual symbol is cake – originating from the idea that we would rather have cake than sex.  
>  **Author's Notes:** I have used some of Pottermore’s information on magical portraits as guidance, but I have also made up my own theories because the information was a bit too vague. I really hope you like this story, ICMezzo.

Draco brushed a flyaway strand of hair out of his steel grey eyes, and looked at Granger expectantly. 

Hermione Granger – or Krum, rather, though she would always be Granger to Draco – was Draco’s probation officer. 

Merlin, if he had known Granger would have so much control over his life now, Draco would have rejected the Dark Lord immediately. 

Admittedly, Draco had got off lightly considering he had the Dark Mark printed onto his forearm. 

As a result of both his age and Harry Potter’s testimony, Draco hadn’t been given the life sentence in Azkaban that most Death Eaters had received. Instead, he had spent a year in prison, although since the Dementors had left, it really wasn’t so bad; more boring than anything. 

After that year was up, he was forced to do five years of community service, which included helping to re-build and clean up both magical and non-magical communities, volunteer work at St. Mungo’s, and assisting Hagrid in gamekeeper duties at Hogwarts; the latter had been the worst service by far. 

On top of the community service, Draco had to see a therapist every fortnight, and even though his five years were up, Draco still saw Luna Lovegood on a regular basis. Surprisingly, she was brilliant at the job, and helped Draco more than he liked to admit. 

Meeting Granger once a week for at least the next five years wasn’t a choice of his, but he supposed as far as probation officers went, Granger wasn’t _too_ bad. 

Her job was basically to check that he hadn’t committed any Dark magic or criminal activity, and try to help re-integrate him into society. It had been upon Granger’s suggestion, and the court’s mandate, that Draco had taken up weekly art classes. 

Draco had always been artistic as a child, but as he got older, his father had turned Draco’s focus onto more academic hobbies. The classes had reawakened Draco’s love of art, however, and he found painting to be rather therapeutic. 

Draco loved to find beauty in the world around him, and creating and capturing that on parchment filled him with a sense of pride that he couldn’t achieve anywhere else. Unfortunately, the reason his father had tried to bring him away from art was because it wasn’t suited to the real world, and it was very difficult to make a living from it. 

Ironically, it was a particular piece of artwork forever engraved on his body that prevented him from getting any job and making a living, or so it seemed. 

Seven years after the war, and still nobody wanted to hire a Death Eater. 

“I’ve found you a job,” Granger smiled. “It’s perfect for you.” 

Well, maybe Draco was finally happy to be proved wrong. 

**X**

He should have known there would be a catch. 

The job sounded perfect. He would be painting portraits for somebody who didn’t care that he had once been a Death Eater. 

Of course, that person had to be Harry _bloody_ Potter. 

Draco couldn’t deny that he felt somewhat curious about Potter, though. The man hadn’t been seen in the wizarding world for years, although he was obviously still in contact with Granger. 

From what Draco had read in the _Daily Prophet_ , Potter had, as expected, started Auror training the September following the end of the war, and was engaged to the Weasley girl as soon as she graduated from Hogwarts. 

It was only sixth months into his job and engagement that everything seemed to fall apart for the wizarding world’s hero. Potter quit the Auror service, rumoured to have suffered a nervous breakdown, and broke off the engagement with Weasley. 

She was married to Longbottom now; Luna had invited Draco as a plus one to their wedding, though he had promptly refused the invitation. 

Still, that was the last that Draco and the wizarding world heard of Harry Potter, up until now, at least. Draco couldn’t help but wonder why Potter wanted _him_ of all people to paint portraits for him. Maybe Potter hoped that a fellow outcast would be better for his reclusive lifestyle, because, as Draco reluctantly admitted to himself, he was an outcast nowadays. 

Only feeling somewhat apprehensive, and spurred on by his curiosity, Draco knocked on the front door of Potter’s house. He recognised it from the outside as being the Black ancestral home; his mother had been rather put out that a half-blood had inherited it, but clearly she hadn’t resented Potter that much, considering she saved his life. 

The man who opened the door was not Potter. At least it wasn’t until Draco took a double take. 

It had been seven years since he had last seen Potter, but Draco was sure that people didn’t change _that_ much beyond standard aging. 

Potter’s facial structure and slender body shape were the same, and still _him_ , but his hair was even wilder now and longer, and his emerald eyes looked haunted, weighed down with dark circles beneath them. The murky stains clashed vividly with his pale skin, and while Potter was still skinny, it was not in the awkward teenage way; now he just looked underfed and weak. 

Not that Draco could judge him on that; he was aware that he didn’t look much better. He had been living in Ministry housing, and the meals provided weren’t particularly nutritious. The mattresses were too thin and lumpy to sleep comfortably on, while the thin walls created a constant chill that numbed Draco’s bones. They weren’t even allowed to use magic when they were inside, so Draco had already resigned himself to take the job, Potter or not, simply so he could afford to live elsewhere. 

“Malfoy,” Potter greeted, his voice taking Draco aback. He hadn’t heard it in so long, and it filled Draco with comfortable warmth; even if he and Potter hadn’t gotten along in school, being at Hogwarts had been a much happier time for Draco, and hearing Potter speak brought back those better memories. “I’m surprised you showed up; I thought you’d have heard my name and ran.” 

“Granger didn’t tell me it was you,” Draco admitted, noting the way Potter frowned upon hearing his friend’s maiden name. 

“Krum,” Potter corrected quietly. “Are you going to run now, then?” 

Draco could, but he would be a fool to do so. He needed the money, and he couldn’t have asked for a better job than something that involved using art. Draco could handle Potter. 

He shook his head, offering Potter a smirk. 

Potter’s lips twitched like they were fighting off a smile, but then he turned away and ushered Draco inside. 

The hallway was dimly lit, but even in the faint light Draco could see the dust that had built up in the cracks on the walls, and could see the tattiness of the carpet. A large section of the wall was covered by a set of moth eaten curtains, with a golden drawstring hanging down from them. 

“This is what I don’t want,” Potter said quietly, stopping by the curtains and pulling on the drawstring to pull the velvet apart. 

Draco caught a glimpse of an old woman glaring at Potter, before he scrunched his eyes shut instinctively and tried to cover his ears as the woman started screaming. 

“ _Filth! Traitor_!” the portrait screamed. “ _Defiling the house of my fathers_ …”

The voice trailed off as Potter drew the curtains shut, although the woman could still be heard muttering angrily behind them. 

“Sirius’ mother,” Potter explained. “She’ll be your Great-Aunt, I think.” 

“And are you after another screaming old lady to add to your collection?” Draco queried with a light laugh, and even in the poor lighting he could see Potter smile in response. 

“I think one is enough,” Potter replied with a nod. “I have a few portraits I would like, but for now, I’d like my parents done. I don’t really know much about art or magical portraits, so I don’t know if they can be together or if they have to be separate, but I’ll pay the same either way.” 

“What is the pay?” Draco asked, deciding to cut to the chase. He and Potter weren’t friends; this was a job, one which Draco needed, but he couldn’t accept it if Potter was going to pay him a wage that made the Weasleys look rich. Although their shack would no doubt be nicer than the flat Draco was living in. 

“Thirty Galleons a week,” Potter stated. Draco tried to keep the glee off his face; thirty Galleons may have been nothing compared to the money his parents used to give him as pocket money, but it was a fair enough wage now, especially for an ex-Death Eater. “I’ll also cover the cost of any art supplies you need to buy, and if you want I can offer you board as well. The house is big enough; you can have an entire floor to yourself.” 

Draco couldn’t believe his luck. He was being offered a well-paid job doing something he loved, and even if his company would be Harry Potter in a gloomy house, living at Grimmauld Place would be like a palace compared to the Ministry accommodation he was used to. He’d actually be able to use magic inside, and be able to sleep without being woken up at four in the morning by the screaming hag who lived next door to him. 

“Well, I suppose living here would be better from an artistic point of view,” Draco mused aloud slowly, not wanting Potter to think he had one up on him. “I’ll be able to work more irregular hours without disturbing you.” 

“Great,” Potter said, and he actually sounded happy for a brief second, though it was easy to notice his eyes didn’t convey the same expression. “I have the fourth floor, but feel free to pick whichever other floor you feel like, and then you can come back tomorrow with your things. I’ll go and Floo Hermione and let her know; she’ll be so happy for you.” 

**X**

Potter’s parents were beautiful people, there was no denying. James Potter was almost a replica of his son, and he had cheerful hazel eyes and a cheeky grin. Lily Potter’s smile was smaller, but just as genuine, her auburn hair contrasted beautiful with her pale skin, and her vivid green eyes sparkled with light that Draco had seen many years ago in her son, back before the Dark Lord returned to ruin everyone’s lives. 

The photograph of them was clearly old, considering that Draco was now several years older than the people in it, but it had been looked after, with no creases or curling corners. 

“This is one of my favourite photos of them,” Potter murmured, his voice muffled from the mug of coffee he was hiding behind. “They just look so happy and carefree; that’s how I like to remember them.” 

Draco nodded, settling the photo gently onto the desk beside his own untouched coffee. 

“Is that how you’d like me to paint them?” Draco asked, watching as Potter nodded. 

Portrait painting was somewhat more difficult when the subjects were dead, because the artist would have to rely on descriptions to know how to paint them. As well as painting subjects in a certain light, while Draco painted he would have to weave in the magic, which would ultimately give the portrait life in the end. This life would be based on the way Draco perceived the subjects; if he viewed subjects as being boring and dull, then the magic used would pick up on that, and the competed painting would most likely speak in a monotone voice and only discuss things like the weather and taxes. 

The portrait of Walburga Black had no doubt been painted by somebody who had perceived her as being a cruel pure-blood fanatic. From what Draco had gathered from his mother, Walburga _had_ been a cruel pure-blood fanatic, but she had also been a lot more than that. However, the magic of a portrait only went so far, and only the most vivid perceptions would make it into the portrait’s personality. 

That was the thing with portraits; yes, they were a nice way to speak to a deceased loved one, but the character was limited and stereotypical in a way. So if Potter wanted the portrait of his parents to be cheerful and happy, then they would be so, but Potter would probably never be able to get a serious conversation out of them. 

“They both suffered emotionally during the last year of their life,” Potter said quietly, his voice dragged down with sorrow. “Too much stress caused by the possibility of their impending death; I want them to be happy.” 

“You know the portrait won’t actually be them, don’t you?” Draco asked, not wanting Potter to get the wrong idea of what Draco was doing. It was better to cover himself now for legal purposes. “It will only be a capture of one fragment of their personalities.” 

“I know,” Potter hissed, but his expression softened quickly. “Thank you for accepting the job. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, but I couldn’t find anyone I trusted to do this for me.” 

“And you trust me?” Draco raised an eyebrow, and tried not to feel affronted when Potter shook his head. 

“No, but I trust you as a professional,” Potter answered with a light smirk. “You have too much to lose by purposefully messing this up.” That much was true. “I’d like to come to trust _you_ just a little bit more, though. I know we’ve both done bad things in the past, but that was a long time ago now, and I’d like to think we can at least have a professional relationship.” 

Draco hadn’t expected Potter to sound so mature. Granted, they were in their mid-twenties now rather than teenagers, but for some reason, Draco had never really expected Potter to grow up. Maybe it was because everyone remembered the Boy-Who-Lived as a teenage hero; the seventeen year old who defeated Voldemort. But while Potter had been that seventeen year old, that seventeen year old wasn’t Potter anymore. 

“I agree,” Draco said hastily, noticing that Potter had been watching and waiting for an answer. “We’re both adults now, and I am here to work rather than get into petty fights with you.” 

“Alright, so why haven’t you drunk the coffee I made you? You can’t just waste things,” Potter commented, pointing to his full mug. 

“How am I wasting it? It’s been ten minutes-” Draco began to argue, but he trailed off as he spotted the grin on Potter’s face. The smile looked real, and put a glimmer of that spark back into Potter’s eyes for just a moment before it faded out again. 

“Didn’t you know most of the pettiness came from you?” Potter laughed, folding his arms across his stomach. The position only seemed to make Potter look even skinnier than he was, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Potter’s bones stuck out like Draco’s did. He couldn’t wait to start eating proper food again to get his old body back. 

“Just be careful what you say to me,” Draco stated, giving Potter a playful smirk. “Or I’ll paint your mother cross-eyed.” 

**X**

Draco’s job had been going surprisingly well for the last few days. 

He had taken the third floor to himself, and spent most of his time there, having turned one of the bedrooms into his art room. 

Draco hadn’t seen much of Potter. The man would occasionally appear to ask Draco how he was getting on, or to ask if he needed anything, but most of the time they seemed happy to stay out of each other’s way. 

That may have been caused by the shower incident the second day after Draco had moved in, however. 

The fourth floor, where Potter spent most of his time, didn’t have a bathroom on it, and so he used the one on the third floor. Draco had never had a problem with sharing a bathroom; it was impossible to have a problem with it, considering he had spent six years in a shared dormitory, but Draco had known his dorm-mates habits and patterns, whereas he didn’t know Potter’s. 

So when Draco had gone to the bathroom at half five in the morning, he hadn’t expected to find Potter already in there. 

Potter must have cast a Silencing Charm to stop the noise of the shower waking Draco up, so, looking very much surprised at the sight of Draco, Potter had shrieked and ripped the shower curtain off the rails to wrap around his body while Draco had been hastily backing out of the room. 

The problem Draco had was the way he had reacted to it. 

“So Potter was there in the shower, naked and wet,” he told Luna at his latest therapy session. “And I didn’t feel a damn thing. He was naked and wet, and I didn’t even feel a tingling or anything. Don’t most people find that sort of thing arousing?” 

“Does it really matter what most people do?” Luna challenged, and it was her blunt but open way of seeing things that made Draco appreciate her so much. 

“No,” he agreed. “But why can’t I feel anything? And it isn’t just Potter; I’ve never felt turned on by _anybody_.”

And that was true. 

Draco could recognise when a person was beautiful, but for some reason, everything from the neck down was just _there_. Draco had never fantasised about being with another person, he had never found himself entranced by someone else’s body, and he had never desired anybody. He just didn’t understand _why_.

He remembered being at school, having to pretend he was excited about the adult magazines that Blaise brought out in the dorm. Draco remembered seeing the soft curves and bouncing breasts of the women and feeling absolutely nothing, and how he preferred to look at the lovely colour of the women’s eyes, and how their hair was styled. 

Draco wondered if he might be gay, which would explain his lack of sexual attraction to women, but he had sat on his bed with the curtains drawn tightly shut while he flipped through the magazine filled with nude male models, and felt exactly the same lack of feeling that he experienced when looking at women. 

Draco felt like something inside of him was broken; why else would he feel so empty in regards to other people? His friends had gone on about the girls they liked and how far they had got with them, and Pansy had lounged on Draco and tried to feel him up, and he hated it. Why did they all get to be normal, while he could never manage to comprehend _why_ they wanted to touch one another? 

He had masturbated and had sex in the past, just to see what it was like, but his experience was very different from the graphic stories Blaise and Pansy had shared over the years. He had never once pictured anybody while he pleasured himself; to Draco, it was all about the pleasure his hand was giving him. It was stupid really; the idea of a couple fucking didn’t turn him on, but he could climax while listing in his head the items he needed to buy at the next Hogsmede weekend. 

It was the same during sex; it made his body feel good, but he preferred to shut his eyes and focus on the pleasure, while fighting off the confusion as to where to put his hands. He just didn’t like to put his hands on the body of somebody he didn’t particularly care for, but his partners hadn’t seen it that way. 

Which was probably why he had only slept with three people, two female and one male, and each experience was roughly the same. For the last few years, he had chosen to focus on his community service and getting his life back together, and he had been happier that way. Draco had hoped that maybe once everything was back in place, his hormones would kick in and he could finally feel like his friends. 

Trust Potter to mess that up. 

“I didn’t even feel revulsion,” Draco confessed, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “I walked in on Marcus Flint in the Quidditch showers once and felt disgusted, but I didn’t feel that with Potter, so why didn’t I feel attracted instead? Or feel attracted to anybody, for that matter?” 

“It isn’t a bad thing if you don’t feel sexual attraction, Draco,” Luna mused, fixing Draco with an unblinking stare. “It’s just part of who you are.” 

“It’s not meant to be, though,” Draco insisted, slamming his fists onto the small table set between Draco and Luna. “I never wanted to be an outcast; life is so much better when you fit in. I’ve already lost that because I’m burdened with the Dark Mark, so being otherwise normal is the only way I’m going to get on in life. Isn’t there any way to learn attraction?” 

Draco knew it was a stupid thing to ask; of course he couldn’t teach himself to find people sexually appealing, but surely his situation wasn’t _that_ hopeless? If he could just manage one person, he could settle down, have children and continue the Malfoy name, but who would want Draco if he didn’t desire them? 

“You can’t force nature,” Luna said firmly, but her voice was so dream-like that Draco could never find himself angered by her factual remarks. “Sexual attraction isn’t the only thing that matters; you can still lead the life you want. What is normal, anyway? If you want to be normal, then continue to be yourself. Normality cannot be based upon anybody but yourself.” 

**X**

Draco wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after his conversation with Luna, but he decided to push his feelings to the side for now. He couldn’t waste time worrying about himself at the moment, and perhaps his subconscious would pick up on it and realise he wasn’t working properly and do something about it. 

Potter hadn’t mentioned the shower incident since it happened, and as more days passed, he started to become more active around Draco. They weren’t exactly sociable, because Draco spent his days painting while Potter did who knew what, but evenings were more often spent together than not. 

It was unexpected how easily Draco had been able to put the past behind him, and he and Potter could have actual conversations now. The tone could be somewhat forced at times, but as time went on, words started to flow easier. 

There had also been a number of occasions when Potter would act rather strangely. He would zone out sometimes, and Draco noticed that Potter was rather jumpy, and flinched at the slightest of noises. Potter also disappeared into his room sometimes and wouldn’t leave for two days straight, and Draco had also caught Potter sitting in various places looking very much like his world had fallen apart. 

It made Draco feel very uncomfortable, and he didn’t know if it was because of the fact that Potter clearly had problems, or if it was because Potter’s problems reminded Draco very much of his own. Draco could recall sitting in his cell in Azkaban, shaking violently as his mind replayed gruesome scenes over and over again in his head. He still suffered nightmares at times, Greyback playing a big role in them most of the time, but everything had got better over time. He wouldn’t have said he was over whatever was wrong with him, but he did know that Luna had helped more than he liked to admit. Talking to her openly about anything he wanted to, without the feeling of being judged, had been wonderful, especially with Luna guiding him through the difficult emotions and suggesting ways he could help himself if he ever suffered a panic attack while he was at home. 

Draco jumped as a scream came from the room above his. He leapt to his feet, dropping the paintbrush that thankfully landed on the floor rather than on the almost completed portrait of Potter’s parents, and ran up the stairs before he knew what he was doing. 

He barged into Potter’s room, where the man was thrashing wildly in bed, with his hands clenched tightly around the bed sheets. Draco knew a nightmare when he saw one, and without a second thought he moved to Potter’s bedside and placed his hands gently on Potter’s shoulders, to both stop him thrashing and to try and shake him awake. 

After a couple of moments Potter’s eyes snapped open, wild and terrified, and the man looked desperately around the room before his confused gaze fell on Draco. Potter continued to watch him as he panted, still looking as though he expected the Dark Lord to jump out of the wardrobe and slaughter them. 

Draco looked around the room as he waited for Potter to get his breath back. Gryffindor banners were strung up across the walls, and Draco turned his gaze uncomfortably away from the Muggle posters of scantily clad girls, not wanting to be reminded of his issues that very second. Draco also noticed a number of empty potion vials carelessly discarded on the floor, but Potter shifted and Draco found his attention drawn back to the man. 

“Sorry,” Potter croaked finally, though Draco could feel him still trembling beneath his hands. “Did I wake you? I must have forgotten to put the Silencing Charm up.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Draco told him honestly. “I’ve nearly finished the portrait; I’ve just been adding some finishing touches.” 

“Can I see?” Potter asked, and as cruel as Draco knew he could be, it was impossible to deny somebody who looked as fragile as Potter did now. It was really quite striking how different Potter was at his most vulnerable state, though he could sense that Potter was trying to put his masks back up. 

Draco moved his hands from their position on Potter’s shoulders, and they silently walked together down the stairs, and into Draco’s art room. 

Potter gasped, and Draco found himself smiling at the man’s reaction. Potter looked positively entranced by the portrait, and all the fear that had been in his eyes moments ago had been replaced with a twinkling light. 

Draco thought he had done a good job; the portrait looked almost exactly the same as the photograph, although he had changed the outfits and positioning of the couple. He had chosen a vivid red for Lily’s hair, and James’ eyes were a truly lovely mix of green and brown with just a splash of blue to give them that something extra. 

Most impressive of all was the golden glow that shimmered across the paintwork, filling the air with a faint throbbing of magic. 

The glow would sink into the paint once the portrait was finished and bring it to life, but for now the magic gave it a beauty all of its own. 

“It’s beautiful,” Potter whispered, sounding as though he was about to cry. “Thank you so much; you’ve done even better than I could have ever imagined.” 

Draco could hardly believe Potter was saying those things to him; not even his Mother and Father had spoken to him with that much praise. “I’ve still got a few small details to do, and then I’ll let the magic sink in and bring them to life.” 

Potter nodded, and then threw his arms around Draco, burying his head in Draco’s shoulder as he embraced him tightly. 

Draco froze momentarily, but the minty scent of Potter’s hair filled his senses, and suddenly he was aware of how bony Potter’s arms were around him, and how frail the man actually was, and how could he just leave him when he was finished with the portrait? It couldn’t be because he cared about Potter, though, surely, because that would just be strange. Never mind the fact Draco actually felt comfortable placing his hands on Potter’s back, or that Draco was aware that he was strange anyway, because he didn’t wish to move his hands lower or have Potter writhing against him. But the touch – just the touch – felt okay. 

**X**

“Harry is thrilled with the work you did,” Granger told Draco, beaming. “He has written you an excellent recommendation.” 

“Wonderful,” Draco said bitterly. He had finished the portrait of Potter’s parents and had hastily moved out afterwards, not wanting to drag the process out, but he had been miserable ever since. 

He told himself it was because he missed the soft mattress and the nice food, and the walls that kept the cold out, but he knew he was lying to himself. Not that he didn’t miss all of those luxuries, of course, but rather there was something else he was missing more. 

“Although,” Granger started, looking rather smug as though she knew what Draco was thinking, “Harry has asked if you would mind doing some more portraits for him? It would be a lengthy process because there are a few names on his list, apparently, but he is offering the same payment and board as before, plus bonuses for taking up so much time.” 

Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Granger could hear his heart beating. 

She didn’t make a comment, however, and instead slid a piece of paper across the desk. Draco unfolded it, and read through the names, feeling a chill as he did so. 

‘ _Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks_ ’, and on it went to ‘ _Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey_ ’. 

There were about fifteen names on the list in total, all of them belonging to dead people, with most having died at the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Why did Potter want so many portraits of the dead? Potter’s parents, he could understand, and the same with his Godfather and the werewolf Potter had been so fond of, but he couldn’t recall Potter being that close to Mad-Eye Moody or Ted Tonks. 

“Is everything okay?” Granger asked, looking at Draco with concern. 

“Fine,” he answered quickly, tearing his eyes away from the names. “Tell Potter I accept.” 

**X**

It was far too easy to get back into how things were. 

Draco wasn’t sure if he would class him and Potter as friends now; he wasn’t _that_ sure of how Potter felt about him, even if he did seem fond of him. Still, it just felt natural being around Potter now. 

It was also becoming more obvious that Potter had some issues in his life. Potter spent a lot of time locked in the same room on the second floor that Draco had never been in before, and he had discovered a couple of empty wine bottles hidden behind cupboards and behind curtains. The only reason Draco knew they weren’t old was because everything else around them was covered in dust. 

Potter always looked tired, like he never slept. Draco spent most of his nights awake too, and never heard Potter, but he was sure he wasn’t the only one awake in the house. 

Potter didn’t seem _overly_ depressed or anything, but Draco knew from experience how easy it was to pretend. The first two years of his probation period in particular had been full of lies and false smiles, although Luna had been very good at knowing when he was lying. 

Draco didn’t truly understand _why_ he cared about Potter so much. 

Their relationship was not the greatest, and they had a lot of history behind them, not all of it good. Yet, it was almost as if Draco cared for Potter _unconditionally_. 

There was no way Draco could have any sort of feelings for Potter, surely? 

Draco didn’t think Potter was ugly; he had a boyish charm and those lovely emerald eyes, but he wasn’t attracted to Potter, much like he wasn’t attracted to anybody. 

While Draco never thought he could limit falling for somebody to a particular gender, he couldn’t work out how he could love someone without being attracted to them. People said looks weren’t everything, but there had to be _some_ attraction for a relationship to work, didn’t there? Draco had offended people in the past for not being attracted to them, and that had been in random flings; didn’t an actual relationship work more intensely than that? 

“Are you okay?” Potter asked, drawing Draco out of his musing. 

“Yeah, are you?” he answered with a small smile. 

“I’m fine,” Potter replied, his returned smile not reaching his eyes. 

“Are you sure?” Draco pressed on before he could stop himself. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Potter blinked, and got to his feet. “I, er, have something I need to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Draco inwardly winced as he watched Potter walk away. He hadn’t meant to offend Potter or anything, and even though Draco thought it was pretty obvious that Potter was lying, he shouldn’t have stuck his nose in Potter’s business without thinking of a good enough reason first. 

Still, that hadn’t kept Draco feeling uneasy for the rest of the evening, so before heading to his room for the night, he found himself knocking on Potter’s door. 

“Draco!” Potter greeted cheerful as he answered the knock, swaying on his feet slightly. 

Draco could smell the wine in the air. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Draco said, deciding it would be best to leave Potter until he was sober in the morning. 

“That’s so sweet,” Potter beamed, grasping Draco’s wrist to pull him into the room. “I knew you were sweet.” 

“I’m not,” Draco retorted quickly, shaking his head and pulling his wrist free. 

Potter grinned, and the unusual happiness made Draco feel rather uneasy. 

“You are, deep down,” Potter stated, still smiling widely. “That’s what I love about you.” 

And then Potter’s lips were on his, the taste of wine so strong that Draco felt like he could get drunk just from kissing Potter. 

Draco pulled back, his lips tingling from the sensation. Potter pouted, but the expression was ruined as he swayed and nearly fell over. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Draco said, taking Potter’s wrist. 

Potter didn’t protest much as Draco pulled back the bed sheets and ushered Potter into the bed, and he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. How he could lose energy that quickly, Draco didn’t know. 

But Potter had kissed him! And Draco had enjoyed it. 

Draco wanted to wake Potter up and kiss him again, but wouldn’t that just be leading Potter on? Draco had dreamt about kissing someone, and holding their hand, and falling asleep entwined, but doing more than that just didn’t appeal to him, and what if Potter wanted more? Had Potter even meant it, or had it been the alcohol influencing him? 

No matter the reason, the kiss had only proved to Draco how messed up he was. Nobody would want him if he would only be willing to be intimate with them on occasion. But he wanted Potter, and it was dawning on Draco just how much he did. All because of one kiss. That kiss meant more to Draco than any meaningless sex had. 

Yet to Potter, or anyone else Draco may decide to pursue a relationship with, kissing would, in the end, lead to other physical activities which Draco wasn’t prepared for. 

And Draco didn’t know if anyone would ever be okay with that. 

**X**

“What happens if you don’t receive therapy when you need it?” Draco asked Luna curiously. 

Potter needed help, that much was clear, and Draco couldn’t get his head around the fact that Potter was friends with a therapist and the interfering Granger, but had been left to suffer in that gloomy house on his own. 

“That depends on who the person is and what’s wrong with them,” Luna said, giving Draco the answer he didn’t want. “You needed therapy because you shut things away and avoid them, and that isn’t very good for you. Harry’s like that, too. Are you trying to get him to therapy now?” 

“Who said I was talking about Potter?” Draco sneered, disregarding the fact that Luna was right. 

“Because you like him,” Luna stated, smiling serenely at him. “I can tell. You don’t like many people, but even when I was locked in your dungeon your eyes would light up every time you talked about Harry. They’re doing the same thing now.” 

“Maybe it’s someone else I like,” Draco suggested, not quite sure why he was arguing when he knew Luna was right. 

“No, your eyes only light up like that for Harry,” Luna countered. “You’re only arguing because you’re avoiding your feelings, just like I said you do. It’s alright to care about Harry; I do. I know Harry’s poorly, but he won’t listen to anyone when we try and help him. He’s very stubborn. Maybe he’ll listen to you; have you asked him to come here? His eyes light up when he talks about you, just like yours.” 

“My eyes don’t light up,” Draco protested. “But no, I haven’t spoken to him about it, and I don’t see why I should; it’s his business.” 

Of course, if Draco hadn’t been forced into therapy, he could very well have been living with constant emotional trauma like Potter was doing now. 

“It’s his business,” he repeated. “I don’t get to have a say in his life. Can we end the session early today?” 

“Isn’t there anything else you want to talk about?” 

Was there? Yes, there was, but Draco didn’t think he could handle talking about that right now. What was he meant to say, anyway? That he was falling hard for Potter, and how could that even happen if he couldn’t experience any attraction towards him? And how could he get over his feelings? Because there was no way anyone would want to be with someone who didn’t worship their body or have much desire for sex. Potter may have kissed him and confessed to some form of affection, but Potter had been drunk. Even if Potter meant what he said, he wouldn’t want someone as broken as Draco. 

Most people wanted love and physicality in a relationship, and Draco could only offer one, at least for the most part. 

Draco really _should_ tell Luna how terrified he was about relationships, and how he couldn’t understand the difference between his romantic and sexual attraction, because how do you fall in love without falling in love with all of a person? 

And there was that word – love. He was falling in love with Harry Potter. 

“No, there isn’t anything I want to talk about.” 

**X**

When Draco returned to Grimmauld Place, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was planning to do. 

A very small part of him wanted to gather his things and leave Potter alone, and go to a place where he could stop worrying about Potter and the conflicting feelings he was causing in Draco. But Draco couldn’t do that. 

Should he tell Potter how he felt? But no, how would that conversation go? _Hi Potter, I’ve fallen in love with you, but I don’t find you sexually attractive because my brain stops working the second my eyes travel below your neck_. 

He could suggest that Potter see a therapist. In fact, he should _really_ suggest that Potter see a therapist, but why would Potter listen to Draco if he hadn’t listened to his friends? 

So really, Draco was resigning himself to continue living as he had been doing, even though it had been driving him insane with concern and confusion. 

Yet somehow, his body knew he couldn’t carry on like that, and his feet had brought him to a door he had never been through before – the one that Potter spent most of his time in now. 

Glancing around the hallway and finding it empty, he slowly turned the door handle and stepped inside, gasping at the sight. 

The portraits Draco had already completed were hung up on the walls, with the spaces in-between covered in photographs of the subjects in the portraits. A narrow mirror covered almost the entire length of a section of one wall, and the glass was smashed with shards glistening on the floor below it, and blood stained the centre of the smash mark. 

Rather bizarrely, potion vials and empty wine bottles were propped up alongside a wall in size order. 

It felt to Draco like the room was a stepping stone to the inside of Potter’s mind, and Draco didn’t like what he saw. 

Potter must have been suffering far worse than anyone could have imagined. 

“What are you doing?” a nervous voice hissed, and Draco spun around to face Potter, whose face was twisted in horror and anger. 

“I was looking for you,” Draco said quickly, holding his hands up in a protest of innocence. Potter’s fingers were bloody, and clutching a full bottle of deep red wine. 

“Get out!” Potter growled, throwing the bottle across the room where it smashed against the portrait of Sirius, the wine flowing across the painted skin like blood. “Get out!” Potter screamed this time, and Draco didn’t need to be told twice. 

He ran past Potter, not caring that the man was bleeding, or that his eyes were wild, desperate, and lost. 

If Potter wanted him gone, then fine. 

**X**

Draco hadn’t even stopped to gather his things; he had Apparated straight out of the house and back to the Ministry flat. 

It had been several hours since Potter had screamed at him and kicked him out, but Draco was still fuming. How could Potter talk to him like that when he hadn’t even done anything wrong? 

And more importantly, how could he have ever fallen for a train wreck like Potter? 

_That’s not fair_ , his inner voice chided. _You may not be a train wreck, but you could have been. You’re not that far off it, really._. 

Draco was fucked up, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about Potter taking his problems out on him. He had cared about Potter, only to have it thrown back in his face, so what was the point of caring anymore? 

_He didn’t know you cared because you couldn’t face him_ , his irritatingly logical conscience told him. _You didn’t do anything to help him_.

But why should Draco help Potter now? Potter could drown in misery for all he cared. 

Only Draco did care, no matter how pissed off he was. 

Draco growled, kicking angrily at the wall before sinking onto his bed and burying his face in his hands. 

He jerked when a loud knock echoed on the door, and Granger had barged her way in before Draco could even answer the door. 

Draco was in no mood to be disturbed, and was about to shout at Granger to go away, when he noticed she had tears streaming down her face. 

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she sobbed, clutching her hand over her chest. “Kreacher just sent me a message; he said he’s found Harry unconscious, but Kreacher’s so old now he doesn’t have the power to take Harry to hospital, and the Wards won’t let me in.” 

“So you want me to help?” Draco questioned, already getting to his feet. Merlin, what had Potter done? 

“Please,” Hermione begged, swiping at her teary eyes. “Listen, before you go, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but Harry isn’t very well. He’s suffered with depression and Post-Traumatic Stress for years, but he’s locked everyone out and refused our help. I’ve only seen him happy since you moved in with him, and I know he cares about you, so please, try and help him; you’re his only hope.” 

Draco nodded, unable to speak because of the lump that had formed in his throat, and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. 

“Master Draco!” Kreacher shouted upon Draco’s arrival. “Kreacher is finding Master unconscious, but Kreacher doesn’t have the power to take him away. Follow Kreacher, Sir, Kreacher will lead you to Master.” 

Draco already had a sinking feeling of where he knew he would find Potter, and his suspicions were confirmed when Kreacher led him to the portrait room. 

As Draco stepped through the door, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and that the world had suddenly started to spin in reverse. 

Potter was sprawled on the floor, his black hair covering his sickly white face, and a skeletal arm was stretched out in front of him. His bony fingers were almost pointing towards an empty potion vial that had smashed on the ground, and there was a faint blue stain on the carpet from the remainder of whatever potion Potter had taken. 

Draco rushed towards Potter, kneeling beside his prone form as he checked his wrist for a pulse. It was slow, but it was there, and Draco breathed out a sigh of relief as he turned Potter onto his back. 

“ _Rennervate_ ,” he cast desperately, but Potter didn’t stir. 

Scowling at his lack of success, Draco shifted his arms beneath Potter to lift him up. 

“He didn’t mean what he said earlier,” a portrait – Lily’s – said, and the others nodded in agreement. “He – he cares about you a lot.” 

Draco looked down at the man in his arms, feeling his heart ache with a painful love. 

“I don’t think that’s enough,” he muttered sadly, before vanishing them both with a crack. 

**X**

Sitting in the waiting room at St Mungo’s was like a torture Draco could never imagine. 

Time didn’t seem to move, yet the anxiety only seemed to build and build until it crumbled down, crashing over him. 

When Draco had arrived at the hospital, the Healers had taken Potter from Draco’s arms and rushed off, leaving Draco to sit and wait for news. Granger and Krum turned up only moments after Draco, and sat with him in the waiting room, looking equally as nervous. 

Granger had told Draco that Luna was waiting with the Weasley family at their home for any news. 

“Potter?” a voice finally spoke, and the trio followed the Healer to a private room. 

“Mr. Potter is stable,” the Healer informed them, and almost immediately the anxiety lifted, being carried away in the wind. “He had overdosed on Calming Draught, with the toxicity made worse by the alcohol in his system.” 

And just like that, a wave of fear rushed over Draco. 

“Was it-?” Granger started, trying to say the words they were all thinking. “Did he do it on purpose?” 

“It’s hard to say at this moment,” the Healer answered, offering a sympathetic smile. “We will be keeping him at least overnight to both monitor his condition and evaluate his mental health, no matter whether the overdose was intentional or not.” 

Somehow Draco thought that Potter would benefit greatly from a forced evaluation. 

“Can I go and see him?” Draco asked, trying not to scowl as the Healer dropped his gaze to Draco’s covered forearm and then to Granger. Granger must have nodded, because the Healer allowed him to go. 

Potter was staring out of the window when Draco stepped into the private room, with his dark hair splayed out vividly against the white pillow. 

“Harry?” he called out gently, using Potter’s first name for the first time. 

Green eyes landed on him, and Draco shivered at the intensity of the gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Potter whispered, sitting up in the bed and clutching at his hair with his bandaged fingers. “Please, believe me.” 

“I do,” Draco said gently, perching himself beside Potter on the edge of his bed. Draco had to believe Potter; he couldn’t bear the image of Potter being so desperate that he’d try to take his own life. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Potter mumbled, shutting his eyes and dropping his hands to the bed. “I never wanted anyone to see that room.” 

“Why?” Draco asked, practicing the blunt questioning that Luna used with him. He fought the urge to link his fingers with Potter’s, instead curling them in the bed sheet. 

“I’m _ashamed_ ,” Potter breathed, his fingers trembling. “I see them all the time. I see them dying, and I see them dead. It’s like I’m watching it happen for the first time, over and over again; it’s so vivid. There are some times when it just feels like I’m still there in that battle, and I know it’s my fault they’re all dead. I’ve been drinking and taking the potions to try and forget, but they don’t work as well anymore, so I’ve been using them more and more. And I wanted the portraits so I could apologise to them, and let them know how sorry I am that they died and I didn’t. They tell me they don’t blame me, but I know they’re lying.” 

“They’re not,” Draco countered, finally deciding to take Potter’s hand in his. Potter’s eyes snapped open and looked at Draco in alarm. 

Feeling crushed, he started to let go, but Potter quickly took his hand back. 

“I’ve been in that place,” Draco continued, his spare hand toying with the edge of the bed covers. “I felt depressed, like I had nothing to live for. I felt like I had made a massive mistake and deserved to suffer because of it, but I was forced to talk about my feelings with a therapist. Without Luna, and even Granger I suppose, I don’t think I’d be where I am today. My life is far from perfect, or even good, but I know I deserve better, and I’m striving for that. I accept I made mistakes, and the nightmares will never go away forever, but I’m ready to get my life back on track, and you can be like that too. The Healers are going to ask you about your mental health tomorrow, and I think you should be honest; they only want to help. You deserve to get better.” 

Potter’s fingers twitched in Draco’s, and then Potter was kissing Draco once again, this time softer and sweeter, tasting of coffee and sugar. 

“No, wait,” Draco protested, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter mumbled. “I thought you-”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, because I do,” Draco stated, realising the only thing to do was be honest with Potter. That way he wasn’t leading anybody on, and maybe Potter would understand and try and help him. “I have _feelings_ for you, and I want to be with you, but I don’t…I _can’t_ feel sexually attracted to anybody. I never have done, and I don’t know why, but I just can’t, and as a result, I’m not really interested in sex. I’m not against it or anything, and I do enjoy it on occasion, but I don’t want you to get involved with me, only to get fed up of me not having any real sexual interest.” 

Potter looked at him carefully for a moment, and then, to Draco’s surprise, smiled. “Draco, I don’t enter relationships for sex. Yeah, I enjoy sex, but with all this shit going on in my head, I’ve not given it a second thought for a long time. But if I manage to get better, and I want sex and you don’t, then we just won’t have it. I’ve fallen for you as a person; if you aren’t interested in sex, then that’s okay. Nobody else has ever told me I _deserve_ to get better; I think you’re worth it.” 

“You’ll get bored,” Draco protested, even though his heart was almost bursting out of his chest with excitement. 

“No, I won’t,” Potter said, shaking his head. “I promise. If I want sex and you don’t, we’ll go eat some cake or something instead.” 

Draco was grinning as he kissed Potter. 

They both had a long way to go. Potter was ill, but Draco would make sure he got the help he needed to get better, and Draco would really try to make his relationship with Potter work. 

Draco knew it would work, though. He felt accepted for who he was, and for once in his life, Draco didn’t feel broken. 

**Fin**

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/5268.html).


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